Dick-lamer: I don't own Naruto. I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. I don't own Self Reliance. But I DO own some marshmallow eggs... Or at least, I did.

This story pays homage in a silly, silly way to my dear Imbrium Iridum and her lovely characters. This story is a crossover, so cringe. This story has mpreg, so you may want to run screaming.

This story probably isn't the stupidest thing you've read, but I'm sure it's up there.

Aisle 1: Last of stock clearance.

It was somewhere between perusing the uniform ranks of red and white baked bean cans looming to rigid attention over aisle three, and salivating over the much-tousled displays of Easter Egg remnants that Envy bumped into Sasuke; bumped being the operative word as both parties involved were sporting undeniable physical proof of their early third trimesters and couldn't possibly become any less poignantfor the term.

Though his efficiency in the kitchen was becoming notably erratic – most meals consisting of large quantities of peanut butter, soy crackers, marmalade and an anchovy to garnish - supermarkets didn't often make the list of Envy's favourite places to haunt. He loathed surrendering himself to public scrutiny while in such a defenseless state (though Edward would steadfastly argue his partner still had one of the best arms when it came to pitching shoes at genitalia), and he certainly didn't enjoy the myriad of stares that glanced about what was left of his once-perfect body like a swarm of hectic bees; it was mortifying enough that he'd been restricted to one form and one form only – but now his favorite guise had wilted into nothing more than a literal wire-frame of a character, fleshed out only in the midsection, and fleshed out so much he felt he could have populated a small country, Gulliver-style, on his navel alone. Veritably, he considered his current state in such a shambles, he fancied he could just taste the sarcasm dripping from his own neurosis while he imagined the other homunculi rarking it up behind his back: Pride chuckling jovially through his moustache. Wrath ping-ponging off the walls, screeching in amusement. Gluttony's ear-twisting nasal output which Lust had, at one point called a "laugh", peeling the skin off his teeth. They'd badger his temporary disability to no end (and 'no end' was practically redundant when it came to homunculi) whilst he had to wait to catch the next orbit before he could swing around to bowl a punch at them.

He didn't like that he hadn't put up even the smallest scrimmage against his hair; that his outfit had been the first two pieces of clothing he'd managed to ferret from the gathering pile of clothes outside the wardrobe that not only fit, but were a separate top-and-bottom and not the two tee-shirts he'd attempted to tie together into a skirt a few days previous in a fit of depression and something Izumi had dubbed 'Pret a porter gaarbaaaage' sneakily rolling her 'r' in a half-arsed attempt to stifle her snickering with a faux-upper class northern accent

He really didn't like the fact that it was he who was carrying the shopping basket – along with several pounds of child, fourteen of extra tissue and fat and about seven million from water retention – dark circles like charcoal smudges under his eyes, his skin a patchwork texture of oily and dust-dry because Edward simply didn't know what moisturizer was. And since said towhead refused to advocate the purchase of yet more tasty fish-morsels, chocolate, or accept Envy's rebuttal of footwear in any shape or form (which, unbeknownst to the ex-homunculus, chalked him up fittingly against the controversial phase insinuating two of his most nettling pet hates: helplessness and submission ), Envy was forced to take on the shopping himself, whilst the damned sat at the supermarket entrance, waiting for his grumpy charge to finish.

He did, however - amongst a rally of didn'ts - rather like the look on the ghostly pale visage that confronted him; emerging from behind a teetering stack of white chocolate Easter eggs, long since decimated by young, grabby hands from the cages of their mother's shopping trolleys. Two heavy lidded eyes – smoldering, icy black coals - aimed something of a death glare in Envy's direction as his fingers tightened around the last remaining package of pink strawberry and caramel marshmallow eggs in the supermarket, much less the entire shopping mall. Uchiha Sasuke knew this. And Uchiha Sasuke knew this because Uchiha Sasuke was fuelled by the same hedonistic desire for peculiar culinary treats that had convinced Envy to marry marzipan with pepperoni and had subsequently realigned the genin's taste buds in a complete overhaul of favorable flavors; now he craved all things sweet, whereas before his calculated conception he would have arrogantly snubbed most convenience items with even the mildest addition of sugar. At the moment, Sasuke's elevated appetite prescribed the consumption of strawberry, marshmallow, caramel and chocolate, and there was nothing less serviceable than the handy little pods of satisfaction nestled in Envy's grubby paws, and because they were the only available package within a five-mile radius, the Uchiha's determination was trebled. Or more accurately sextrupled. His expression darkened impossibly further as twin glints of malicious intent lit the violet eyes regarding him. The plastic wrapper in Envy's hand crackled ominously.

"Hey," Sasuke began, trying not to moisten his parched lips as one of the six plump, soft sweets peeked through its little clear window, displaying a tantalizing glimpse of chocolate-coated ass enough to make even the most penitent break lent and rampage the nearest candy counter

"Hello," Envy replied, cocking a brow playfully. "Can I help you?"

"Not really," Sasuke tried to appear nonchalant, unlocking his gaze for a moment to skirt, for the sixteenth time, across the tops of the leftover treats in front of him. Not surprisingly, a disappointing show of cream and red boxes stared dimly back, without so much as a husk of remorse. All white chocolate, and Sasuke hated white chocolate; not only was it lacking a what made chocolate chocolate (and consequently, what made Sasuke groan in ecstatic pleasure every time he attempted to orgasm through his mouth over four or five chunks of the stuff), but he'd eaten so much of it in a two week stretch of cravings that his body could no longer handle even a whiff of a wrapper and would irritably toss any consumption right back out the way it came. "Is this all that's left since the holiday?"

The dark boy was stalling and Envy knew it. That look in his eyes, that desperation - he needed those marshmallow eggs as much as he needed oxygen. If there was one thing Envy had learned about pregnancy, it was that his overactive hormones were programmed to go ballistic on sight most objects of the cacao variety. He'd bet his balls on the fact that those rioting within the pituitary of the kid in front of him were probably brawling with his self control while he barely managed to refrain from humorously vaulting the chocolate-box wall and wrestling for possession of the rare package.

Envy knew that, what he didn't know was that Sasuke was a particularly competent ninja. Screw his seven and a half months pregnant handicap, he'd still be able to whip the ex-Sin's scrawny bottom with both hands behind his particularly cumbersome-looking belly. Though the ex-homunculus possessed a devilishly sharp tongue as a weapon, Sasuke was packing three kunai in both pockets, shuriken belts on each ankle, two throwing needles in his hair as well as a aptly-placed sharingan windmill - so 'aptly-placed', even Naruto didn't know where it was, and he'd explored enough of the Uchiha's personal topography to be familiar with a fair few places one might consider calling apt. It was a wonder the Uchiha hadn't been flattened by a barrage of novelty fridge magnets from the gifts section of the store

"Yeah," Envy replied haughtily. He realized that, though he may look like a side order of shit warmed up, he had something the other craved, and that, in his respect, made him more of a god than he already was. "All chocolate confection left." He spat out the term as though it physically dirtied his mouth. "I hate that stuff. Makes me sick."

"Me too."

There was a small bout of expectant silence that could have been described as pregnant, however one figures the scene already bears enough pre-natal representation to further bloat it with gimmicky metaphors; suffice to say, the sudden soundlessness between the pair was as stifling as the midday sun over a Mexican standoff. Sasuke straightened as much as his straining back muscles would allow, while Envy squared his delicate shoulders, drawing the package of marshmallow treats back against his hip, eyes narrowing to amethyst slits against the stony glare of obsidian. Somewhere about their feet, a fallen head of broccoli from the produce section turned somersaults across the lino – propelled by a single lukewarm gust from the air-conditioner.

"Bad experience with Milky bars, huh?" Envy almost drawled as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other - his free hand slowly knuckling the tense muscles at the base of his belly. To his dismay, his fingers scratched across a small patch of caked on, dried material that could have been anything from food debris to one of his body's many, many expulsions and he grimaced slightly. The only waste his immortal form might have excreted before his expansion into motherhood was arguably little: a bit of blood had he been wounded, possibly the occasional fabricated tear for the sake of an effective disguise, but after becoming pregnant? Envy had ridden the porcelain bus more times than he could count, most often with a return ticket and many a time for a multiplicity of purposes. The ex-Sin's expression blanched further as his fingers explored the scattered archipelago of mystery crust adorning the hem of his shirt; didn't he have any clean clothes anywhere? Hadn't his personal assistant (read: Maid Curtis) noticed that the majority of the clothes he'd been wearing a month ago no longer fit thanks to the every-growing bulge in his middle that would no doubt be developing its own gravitational pull pretty bloody soon? Stupid woman!

"You better believe it. My boyf-… My f-… this guy I know…" Sasuke swore against using intimate pronouns – even some as mundane as friend or partner - when in the company of strangers; much less, strangers with blackmail material. "…bought me an entire box of the stuff and it was gone in a week. After that I couldn't even look at the word 'Milky bar' for more than a fortnight, lest I- "

"Take another step to becoming scarilyfamiliar with the toilet bowl?" Envy laughed as Sasuke nodded sagely. "Just after we thought we couldn't get closer after all the morning sickness! How far along are you, anyway?"

"Far? What? I mean… I don't know… about seven months or so?" It wasn't as though the question had taken him by surprise, it was more the fact the asker was in such an ironically similar position. Sasuke hadn't taken it into his head to assume Envy would enquire – he'd never quite gotten his head around the logistics of polite conversation - and therefore fumbled his response quite magnificently. He looked the other boy over – boy, oh yes, he was a boy indeed, chakra could lie about strength but it couldn't lie about sex. Male and female streams had their differing qualities as much as the outer forms themselves did – frowning as he wondered how someone with such a worryingly weak signature could possibly still be on their feet, not to mention keeping him from the delicious morsels he'd had to practically hunt down from the other side of the city.

"Is that all?" Envy leaned over a little sideways, a razor sharp smirk starting to slice into his face in a very close-cut shave as his eyes moved down and around the curve of Sasuke's particularly ample midsection. The ex-Sin wasn't as duped by Sasuke's effortlessly androgynous appearance as most of Konoha and the equal scattering of male and female shelf-packers in the supermarket had been. No, as the saying itself proclaimed: it took one to know one. Envy was all too aware of Sasuke's guarded stance, the way in which he carried his burden; far too high for any woman, even in their second trimester. His hips were too thin and distinctly unpadded; it seemed that, despite the overbearing raging hormones that had caused Envy to fly from cold-hearted killer to weepy, wibbly sex-driven maniac, pregnancy might have effected this one as it had his own strange body: sapped his strength and virtually refused to submit carrying any extra protection for the baby. Envy might not have had Sasuke's eyes or been able to sense chakra, but he was a lot older than the eighteen year old. He'd had plenty of time to indulge in a little social science – even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

"What do you mean?" Sasuke leaned back a little. Not the best idea, considering his current state of balance had about the same stability as a drunken rugby league right wing on stilettos, but his usual defense position won out in the mess of instincts that responded to the comment. He felt the sudden heat of abashment slyly cranking up the heat in his cheeks – this was something to do with his weight, he knew it. This crazy bastard in front of him was in exactly the same boat as he, for God knew what reason – Sasuke wasn't sure he wanted to know – but had managed to snaffle both oars for himself and was going to take Sasuke any place he damn well pleased. "I haven't got far to go, you know…"

"Oh of course not!" Envy snickered. "It's just that you look like you're in about your… I dunno… fifteenth month? Did you know that the Elephas maximus has a gesticulation period of twenty-two months?" He'd been into the encyclopedias again, obviously. "At the most, of course… "

"It's gestation," Sasuke narrowed his eyes, the blush still seething across his cheeks with a burn far worse than the jagged inky teeth of his curse seal. No, Orochimaru's little interactive stigmata spoke in lascivious tongues, while the blush sounded a lot more like that bastard tutor, Ebisu, on a bad day. He knew he looked a pillock, there wasn't much he could do about it now. "And if you must jest, be aware that I'm carrying multiples. One tends to… show a little more."

"M-multi…" Envy had skimped on that part of Edward's biology books as it looked like something that sounded ominously troubling. Indeed, the only time he'd come across the word 'multiple' on something positive, was the 4-in-one Dust Blaster Multipurpose Dirt Annihilator that Izumi tended to line the cupboards with in the hope that the house would somehow take the initiative to clean itself. "You mean… more than one?"

Incredulousness tumbled over his skin like chain mail, the chilly links weighing heavily as it settled. One had been bad enough for Envy – hell, it was only getting worse so close to giving birth, he hurt, he was heavy and so out of shape he could have made a marshmallow look buff. More than one? The ex-sin didn't know if he could empathize - he doubted he could even disgest the notion enough to even sympathize with the poor bastard. Yet Sasuke merely snorted, running his fingers through the messy cockatiel cowlick of his hair.

"Triplets, not that it's any of your business," he replied, testily, dropping his hand to cradle the curve of his stomach as if to illustrate the point. "So watch it with the comments." and pass over the candy. Sasuke's gaze dropped again, eyeing up the possibility of some quiet afternoon homicide on this mocking thing in front of him before enjoying sucking the creamy, velvety chocolate off the soft, gooey sweet… sweet…

Envy glared back at him, crossing his arms over the swell of his own middle imperiously as Sasuke's eyes glazed over a little. Like he was going to give up his prize just because spanky here happened to be stuffed with two more than his singleton – it wasn't his fault the other looked about ripe enough to fall from the tree (and several feet into the ground, for the sake of gravity's beguilement ).

"You're expecting me to apologize?" He said, crisply.

"Hn, I'm not that stupid." Long, articulate fingers slid into Sasuke's pants pocket, practically molesting the cool, reassuring spike of kunai tip as he leaned in a little, trying hard not to wince at a particularly sharp kick from one of the dobe's kits. Seemed they were just as eager as their sire to jump in on a fight, and Sasuke wasn't surprised nor worried. Once they were clear of him, Naruto could experience his inherited attributes first hand and multiplied by three. Such was the joy of fatherhood. "However…"

The Uchiha raised his chin slightly, somehow motioning toward the sweets without making any possible allusion to pointing. Envy's fingers sunk into the taut skin around the top of his tummy's curve, the candy crackling its protest from beneath his elbow. Ohohoho! Did the kid here really think he was that conscious-stricken? Like his inner voices (and the ex-Sin almost had to laugh at this; although he was virtually castrated back to human standards by his newborn soul, it was still frightfully ironic to refer to Envy's scruples as 'inner voices') wouldn't egg him on for a fight! Hugely pregnant or no, nothing would keep a reformed homunculus from chocolate – especially when such pleasures were so openly coveted by another.

"Not even." Envy hissed, managing a rather impressive caricature of Orochimaru as he hunkered over slightly, steadying his defensive position - hackles prickling. "Over my dead... um..." The ex-sin paused a second, contemplating his choice of phrase. He'd never given much thought to the expressions that trolled out of his mouth, however the paradoxes were starting to become a little too ironic. "...ah... You'd have to get through me first!"

"All of you?" Sasuke raised a thin brow, rocking backwards a little as he prepared to pounce – despite the hindrance of three heavy, unborn kits and a shopping basket full of green tea ice-cream and strawberry-mint toothpaste weighing him down. "You sound as though you think that would be a problem."

"Bring it on," the ex-Sin smirked. "Fatty…"

Note: I may mention strange foreign candy. That's because I'm a strange foreigner.